Discovery
by capricorn5
Summary: The discovery of love. Narrated by John and Sherlock. Johnlock.


_S_

The tea is cold over the kitchen table. It was supposed to be ready when he was, but he is taking longer than usual.

Sometimes, it takes me longer to see what is right in front of me. Not footsteps, or stains, but feelings. I was sitting when he walked in through the door, his hair wet as his clothes, dripping raindrops to the floor. He stopped at the entrance and looked at me. Not as he usually did. There was something more, something else. There was a new understanding, a certain kind of lost hope and then resignation as he nodded, his way of saying hello, and walked in the direction of the bathroom. Tea seemed like the right thing to do to warm him up. And I questioned myself, as the kettle started to boil, why did I care. Why did I care if he was warm, comfortable. And then I saw it all. The way he looked at me, the words he could not speak. A truth of my own. I had never noticed it before but I could see it now.

I walk slowly, but steady for now. The door is closed but not locked and I can hear the sound of the water falling on the bathtub. He is silent.

_J_

I could barely feel the rain as it fell down my back, dripping from my hands and coat to the floor. I have no idea through which roads I walked nor how did I get home so fast. It was an usual day. I woke up in the morning, went to work and saw my patients. No change in the cycle, no warning. Then, as I stepped outside the hospital and considered the thought of going home and who I would find there, it all changed. It was like a red sign, like all the lights in my head had finally lighten up, and I realised I had been lying to myself all along. I thought I knew who I was, what I was, but I had no idea. It was there, buried somewhere all along, and it finally surfaced with all its strength, in all clarity. I stood there for a moment, considering, assimilating it. The way home was a blur, and brought the confirmation. What was this sudden urge to hold him, to tell him, to make him know? I didn't know. I was not prepared to deal with this.

As I walked into the apartment, there he was, sitting on the couch. I needed all my strength to step away and clear my head. I realised I was soaked and needed to take a shower.

Here I am now, and nothing makes sense yet.

_S_

I press my hand against the door, as if I could feel the movements inside the room like this. I can't. I place my hand on the handle and I turn it around, carefully, noiselessly. The sound of the water is louder now and I see his shadow through the curtain, but he doesn't seem to notice me yet. He isn't moving. His head is pointing down and the water makes its way from his hair to the bathtub. His arms are placed by his side and his hands are closed in a fist.

I take off my clothes, one by one and I approach. I don't really have any idea of what I am doing but if there is a moment I do not wish to think, it is this, right now.

He is beautiful.

I part the curtain to the side and I step in, close to him. Very close.

He turns around, startled and he looks up, at me. He doesn't say a word and I take the chance.

I am not really sure of what I am doing or why I am doing it – except for the obvious. So I press my lips to his and I hold his face with both my hands. He doesn't step away. His lips are wet and warm and willing. I do not stop.

_J_

I hear the sound of the curtain being pulled apart and I turn around. I don't have time to think or make assumptions. Next thing I know he is right in front of me, naked, close. So close. Not close enough.

He seems to read my mind and he holds my face, he kisses me. I don't even try to understand what is happening. I don't mind. My wishes have come true.

_S_

I had never guessed that two mouths moving together like this could make me feel so much, forget so much, want so much more. He is gentle but precise. It doesn't take him longer to kiss me back and take hold of the moment. He is experienced and I like the way he plays with my tongue and makes me shiver, every bone of my body aching for more, more, more.

He is pulling me closer and closer and I can feel his skin, rough against my own.

_J_

I open my eyes and his are closed. I pull him against me. I don't want to stop. I should. We should talk, figure this out. But his kisses are languid and electric, and I am shaking.

_S_

He's shaking beneath my hands and I realise now that I am shivering as well. I have to stop. I pull him away, just enough to look at him, just enough to see him wanting, to see him asking silently. He does not need to beg. I am giving and I am taking.

_S_

The ceiling of his bed is blue and there are little cracks on it. I had never seen it before except when I first moved in, before I decided to take what is now my own room to myself.

We came upstairs because the world is silent and we were too loud. The sheets are wet because they served as towels, or because our sweat made them so. I am not sure. He holds my hand and he turns his head to the side, staring at me. We are lying next to each other, it's difficult to see where one starts and the other begins.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

His tone is different. And I remembered that I heard him sighing, and I made him moan and I blush. It was not perfect, but it's ours.

He is waiting for an answer and I nod. Words cold not describe what I am feeling right now and I don't want them to.

_J_

He has always been difficult to read, and that hasn't changed. He is serious. His black hair falls against his forehead, half dry. If he could just know how perfect he is.

He called my name and it sounded as sweet to my ears as all the other sounds he made, the way his fingers intertwined with mine, the way he suffocated the sound of his own voice on my shoulder, biting it without realising. Now he is pensive and I struggle to understand why. There is no other way but to ask.

He nods to my question and I raise from the bed a bit, to stare right into his face. He smiles, ashamed. I kiss him again and I don't want to spoil the moment with unnecessary words. He knows. I know.

_S_

He is gentle. He has embraced this quietly and simply. He kisses my shoulders and I smile. It's all silent now. And yet, unspoken words say so much. I do not know when or where I lost myself, the man I used to be. It's okay. I don't really miss me that much.

The wind whistles, flying between the slit of the window. Cars drive by outside, leaving no trace on the deserted streets. It's tempestuous. John kisses Sherlock goodnight and rests his head on his shoulder, and the other holds him against himself.

Some experiences aren't written down on a journal. Some secrets are meant to be shared between those who have created them alone. Sometimes, it's written between the lines, hidden so it won't be broken. Solving crimes, falling in love. Isn't it all full of risks worth taking after all?


End file.
